Make Room for Love

Chapter 10

10

Mira yawned and stretched in the open doorway to her bedroom. How long had it been since she’d slept in on a weekend? She’d needed that. The late morning sun filled the living room, making her squint. And Isabel was sitting on the couch, looking right at her.

“Oh!” Mira said, self-conscious. She was still in her pajamas and disheveled from sleep. “I didn’t see you there. Good morning.” The hem of her camisole had ridden up, exposing her stomach, and she tried to be inconspicuous in tugging it back down. Hopefully Isabel didn’t think she was a total slob. “Do you still want to walk to the park? I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” They’d settled on going in the morning, but Isabel probably had an earlier definition of morning .

Isabel looked down at the book in her lap. “It’s fine. I’m ready when you are. Take your time.”

Dressed, with some coffee in her, Mira set out with Isabel. The air was crisp, the sky a gorgeous clear blue. Isabel was wearing her leather jacket and moving with the same quiet self-assurance as on the night they’d met.

The memory of being wrapped up in that jacket had lingered with Mira. The weight and warmth of it over her dress, and how safe she’d felt for those few minutes.

Were the two of them friends? Mira didn’t know where they stood. For two people who didn’t talk much, they saw plenty of each other’s lives. A few days ago, she had seen Isabel at four in the morning in nothing but a well-worn T-shirt and boxers, bleary before her coffee, her hair mussed from sleep. It had been nothing out of the ordinary, but Mira had kept replaying the moment in her mind, marveling at how big, tough Isabel could be so exposed and soft.

Mira had feared an awkward, silent walk. She’d had nothing to worry about. Isabel seemed at ease, walking at a leisurely pace, not forcing Mira to work to keep up this time. She pointed out a landmark on every block: the dive bar, the “good” hardware store, the Greek Orthodox church decorated with mosaics. A new apartment building that Isabel had worked on. “Shortest commute I ever had,” she said. They passed an eyebrow threading salon—Mira would have to come back and see if it was any good.

Dry leaves crunched as they walked. The sidewalks were busy: There were joggers, clumps of teenagers, parents pushing strollers, grannies pushing grocery carts. An orange cat casually emerged from a bodega, and Isabel crouched down.

“She’s friendly,” Isabel said, clearly acquainted with the cat, who only had one eye. Mira bent down next to her. Isabel was stroking the cat’s sleek fur, smiling faintly. Mira held her hand out, and the cat investigated and nuzzled Mira’s hand. She was, technically, allergic to cats, but it never stopped her from petting them.

“She’s so sweet,” Mira said, charmed by the cat and even more so by Isabel’s tenderness. Isabel glanced at her, and the corner of her mouth quirked up.

Something about the way Isabel was crouched reminded Mira of a big cat, too: languid, powerful, not entirely domesticated. Dangerous in the right circumstances, like she’d been to Dylan and his friends. Her strong thighs were straining against her jeans—Mira had seen them bare the other night. Before that, she hadn’t thought much about what a decade of physical labor would look like on a woman’s body.

The cat—the small one—strolled back into the bodega. Isabel stood back up in one easy motion, and they continued on their way.

They approached the park. The leaves were blazing red and orange, and the late-autumn sun was bright. Despite the chill, a brave group was having a kids’ birthday party, their banners flapping in the wind. In the distance was the East River, and then the Manhattan skyline.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Mira said. They started down a tree-lined path toward the river, passing joggers and dogs on leashes. “Have you been in this neighborhood for a while?” Isabel had obviously put down roots here. It seemed incongruous with how much she liked being alone.

“I guess so,” Isabel said. “I moved here five years ago, but I’ve been in Queens my whole life.”

So Isabel was a lifelong New Yorker. Isabel was so sparing with information, and it made Mira want to collect every last bit of it and piece it all together. Isabel had lived with her ex in that apartment. Had they both lived there from the start? If they had broken up less than a year ago, they’d lived together for four years.

Mira couldn’t ask about it, but her heart ached for Isabel. And there were other questions that were even more off-limits: Was Isabel heartbroken? Was she seeing anyone new? Did she want to?

The idea of Isabel being tender with someone, anyone, made Mira’s stomach swoop like she was falling. It was too easy to imagine: Isabel taking a woman in her powerful arms, dipping her backward—the other woman would probably be shorter—and kissing her passionately, like a rugged hero in a classic film. What kinds of women did Isabel like? Did she have a type?

A couple was setting up for a picnic in the grass nearby. Mira felt a traitorous stab of longing. Being single was exactly what she needed. Even thinking about being trapped in a relationship again made her throat constrict. But in her two years with Dylan, he’d never done something so simple as laugh with her while trying to spread out a blanket in the park.

They reached the sidewalk along the river. It was windy, and sunlight glittered on the water.

“This is such a lovely neighborhood,” Mira said, meaning it. She hadn’t made any attempt at getting to know where she lived. After all, she would be moving again in a few months, and she was as likely to end up here as anywhere else. But in a fifteen-minute walk, she already felt more at home than she ever had in Dylan’s neighborhood, with its endless boutiques and tourists. “I can see why you moved here. Maybe I’ll try to stay in the area after your lease ends.”

Just one more move. This one, hopefully, would be less stressful than moving from Vivian’s couch, and less traumatic than collecting all her things from Dylan’s apartment while he loomed over her, only barely restraining himself because Vivian was glaring at him with homicidal intent.

“Yeah, me too,” Isabel said. How did Isabel feel about moving out of her home for the last five years? Another question Mira would never know the answer to. “Where’d you live before this?”

Mira told her the neighborhood. “With my ex,” she added.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring that up.”

A happy running toddler weaved past them, and then another, followed by their parents. “No, it’s okay. Although I’d rather be here, that’s for sure.”

“I worked on some of the high-rises going up along the old waterfront there.” Isabel shrugged. “Nice view, if you can afford it.”

“I lived in one of those.” Isabel’s eyebrows lifted. Mira, after all, was just a broke grad student. “Dylan had a condo. His parents were rich and he got his big break with his novel.”

Isabel remained silent. Mira flushed. Was Isabel judging her?

She knew what it looked like. She’d been taken care of by her rich boyfriend. What was there to complain about? Isabel had had the worst possible first impression of him, but maybe she was changing her mind. “I mean, I did pay for half the utilities and groceries and some other things,” Mira rushed to add. “But I never really felt like it was my home. It was his condo, and almost everything in it was his, even though I was always cleaning up after him. But on the bright side, not having anything meant that it was easy to move out after I dumped him, at least.”

Hopefully she could change the subject now. Isabel’s unreadable reaction made her anxious.

“You weren’t paying any rent before you moved here?” Isabel said.

“No, I wasn’t.” This was bewildering. Was Isabel actually taking his side?

Isabel opened her mouth and closed it. Finally, she said, “Is it hard for you to pay rent? I mean, if it’s too much. Because I figured?—”

“What are you saying?” That came out more sharply than Mira had intended.

Isabel was startled out of her usual impassive expression. “I don’t like the idea of you paying more than you can afford when you’re getting started on your own again.” She hesitated. “I thought if it was too much, you could pay less.”

“No.That’s okay.” Maybe Isabel wasn’t chastising her for being a kept woman, but the relief didn’t come. Isabel didn’t like the idea of it, as though the shape of Mira’s life were up to Isabel to decide. “Thanks, but I don’t need your help.”

She took a breath and tried to calm down, to stop being so oversensitive. She shouldn’t have brought up living with Dylan. It was never going to end well, and she was ruining their outing. God knew what Isabel thought of her now. “Sorry. It’s kind of you. But there are so many other people who have it worse, and you don’t need to help me.”

“I just meant…” Isabel ran a hand through her long, thick hair, stirred up by the breeze from the water. “I just want to make things fair. If you’re struggling?—”

“I’m not.” This was untrue in any sense of the term, but it didn’t matter. “It’s not fair that either of us, or anyone, has to pay this much money just to have a place to live. But I can take care of myself.” She had to stay calm and reasonable. She had to suppress the rising tide of anger.

“I didn’t mean to say you couldn’t.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Things are easier for me financially. That’s all I meant.”

Anger crashed over Mira in a wave, and with it came the undertow of shame. Isabel was financially secure, strong, and in control of her life, and Mira wasn’t any of those things. Isabel could be benevolent from on high, and Mira would remain where she was, struggling and vulnerable and grateful.

That had been how Isabel had viewed her all along. Mira couldn’t be her equal or her friend. It was the truth, but Mira didn’t want the reminder of it. “I don’t need your charity.”

“I didn’t mean—” Isabel cut herself off. “Forget I said anything.”

Mira sighed. The anger was draining from her, leaving behind hollowness and regret. Isabel was clearly being sincere. And a bit of extra money in her bank account every month would make a difference; a lot of her savings had gone toward buying new things after the move. Maybe it had been stupid to say no. But Isabel was already undercharging her, even though they’d never acknowledged it, and she was uneasy enough about that.

There was nothing wrong with Isabel’s offer that Mira could articulate. But she was sick of being so powerless that even her roommate noticed and offered to help. She’d been feeling good about her union organizing, about getting her life back in order. But as long as she wasn’t making more money, she’d be stuck where she was.

“I’m sorry,” Mira said. Her jaw and shoulders were tight. She couldn’t afford to get visibly angry. She knew how she’d come off to Isabel and all the passersby: aggressive, hysterical, threatening.

Isabel shook her head. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It really is kind of you to offer. But I don’t need it. I managed to save some money while I was living with Dylan. And it helps to not be living in an expensive neighborhood and having to keep up with someone’s rising literary star lifestyle.” These days, thinking of her past life with Dylan was like recalling a surreal nightmare. “And, you know, it’s not just me. This is how it is for a lot of us grad students, or at least the ones who aren’t supported by their families. That’s why we’re trying so hard to unionize.”

Isabel nodded. “Look, it’s your business. I shouldn’t have jumped to offering that.” She ran a hand through her hair again. Mira realized, suddenly, that what she’d thought of as a suave gesture was something Isabel did when she was nervous. “Sorry.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” It was time to move on, before Isabel got the idea that Mira was unreasonable and difficult and that she’d had it coming to her. “I’m sorry I was”—she almost said oversensitive —“rude about it to you.” She took another deep breath, trying to release the tension choking her. “This breakup has been hard on me.”

It wasn’t really the breakup. That had been the only good part. But she didn’t want to elaborate.

“It’s fine,” Isabel said. “I met him. You don’t need to explain.”

That soothed Mira’s nerves a little, even if she couldn’t expect Isabel to fully understand. In Dylan’s circles, a brilliant, brooding literary star could get away with anything. But Isabel hadn’t known that version of him, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have cared.

They kept walking in a strained silence. Finally, Mira said, “I can explain more. If you want me to.” Isabel seemed willing to let this go. But Mira so rarely got to speak for herself on her own terms. She wanted to try, for once, instead of letting Isabel assume the worst about her.

A car drove by, blasting a pop song. After it passed, Isabel said, “Can I take you out to lunch? You can do it then. It’s on me. I mean—” Isabel stopped mid-sentence.

Mira huffed a laugh. “Let’s split it, okay?” She didn’t have much room in her budget to go out for lunch. But she wasn’t going to let Isabel pay for her.

Isabel was silent for a few moments. “You got anything in mind?”

“No.”

“Let’s go to the halal cart. It’s nearby.” Mira was relieved. That had been a calculation on Isabel’s part, picking somewhere inexpensive without drawing attention to it. “We can talk in the park. It’s nice out here.”